Not My Life
by GryphonoftheNorth
Summary: Fic about the whole SylarIsNathan a.k.a. Syathan thing. Now multichaptered.
1. Not My Life

**A/N: Heey there! This is just a oneshot about the whole Syathan thing (Sounds like a creepy shipping name, but no XD) I'm thinking about _maybe_ turning it into a multichaptered thing, like one of those 'next season speculation' fics I guess. You think I should? You like it? R&R!**

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Not My Life

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

There it was again! Senator Nathan Petrelli slammed his fist against the desk, sending his pen skittering across its surface and over the edge, landing with a dull thump. It hadn't used to be like this, he mused as he kneaded his forehead with one hand. It was that infernal clock! Its rhythmic tick-tocking like an itch just out of reach, taunting him with the innate sense that something was wrong.

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

His chair skidded backwards as he shoved away from his desk, standing jerkily. Why him? Why now, all of a sudden? He glanced at the door, making sure it was closed tightly before approaching the elegant clock, ignoring the fallen pen nestled in the thick carpet. What's wrong with you? He asked as he gingerly lifted the glass dome away from the clock face with his fingertips, not sure if he was talking to the clock or himself.

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

It came to him suddenly, like an epiphany, everything falling into place. The corners of his lips tugged upward in a brief smile, something that seemed so rare nowadays. It made sense. He finally understood.

_Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

He reached out hesitantly, his right index finger pressing the minute hand backwards along the clock's cream colored face a fraction of an inch. There, it was perfect, it was right. A little too quickly he pulled his hand back and the minute hand's sharp edge sliced open the pad of his finger, long and shallow. Nathan simply stared at it for a moment, caught between mild surprise and irritation as a thin line of blood snaked its way into a steady drip that pattered against the dresser the clock sat on.

_Thump, thump._

And then it healed, the skin knitting together cleaning. His breathe accelerated, coming out in short, shallow gasps. What was going on? He flew, that was his ability. He wasn't Claire, he was wasn't Peter, he wasn't…

_Thump, thump._

It was his heart this time, each pulse pounding in his ears as he fell forward slightly, grabbing the dresser's edge to steady himself. Sylar. No, no. He was dead. He had seen his body go up in flames himself. Half-formed memories surfaced violently, each one coming and going like a painful burst of light. Gabriel Gray. Sylar. Brian Davis. Each name was like someone taking an ice pick to his brain, each one carrying pain, sorrow, guilt.

_Thump, thump._

Now came the ones tinged with anger, vengefulness, a horrible hunger that couldn't be satisfied. Angela Petrelli. Hiro Nakamura. Matt Parkman. The first one frightened him the most. His own mother. And Hiro, Parkman, they'd been allies once upon a time. And then his own face, Nathan Petrelli accompanied by a flash of envy and disgust.

_Thump, thump._

What was wrong with him? He shook his head violently, his legs feeling like jelly, as if that alone would rid him of whatever was happening. But it didn't, of course. The truth came to him in a terrible flash of intuition summoned by instinct. His eyes flicked around the room, everything unfamiliar and strange as he saw it with new eyes. His hand shook as he reached out and brushed his finger in the small pool of blood and it only got worse as he wrote out in large, ragged letters.

**I…**

**Am…**

**Sylar…  
**  
_And this is not my life._

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**S/N: -looks around- Don't tell McGee I was here. I posted this story. Again. She lazy. Shhh! ^^ -poofs-**


	2. Hunger

**A/N: Though you can probably tell, I decided to make it multi-chaptered. As always, I would like reviews. Praise is my crack!**

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Chapter 2: Hunger

"Happy birthday, dear." Angela Petrelli greeted tenderly, hugging her eldest son briefly before ushering him into the house. A stab of pain shot through her as she imagined him as he once was, slumped in a chair, dead, with his throat slit. She had gotten a second chance and she refused to waste it. This was Nathan, _this was her son. _

"Thanks, Ma." The smile on his face came naturally. Why shouldn't it? This was his mother, or so part of him told him. The other fumed silently, this woman was a liar, betrayer. She had given him a family and ripped it out from under him and then stolen his life, his identity. Someday, she would pay.

"Are you alright?" Angela asked in a concerned voice, snapping Nathan out of his internal conflict. She rested on hand on his shoulder, frowning ever so slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine…Long day at the office." He flashed her a reassuring grin, quickly changing the subject. "Pete here yet? I haven't seen him in a while."

"Yes, he and Claire arrived just before you did. Listen, Nathan…" Her voice dropped into a low whisper and for a one heart-stopping moment he thought she was going to explain what was wrong with him, tell him that everything was going to be back to normal soon, comfort him like a mother should. Sylar scoffed, Angela Petrelli didn't _comfort_. "About Peter, I'm worried…" She cut off abruptly.

"Hey, it's the birthday boy." Peter smiled, appearing at his side as he smacked his brother playfully on the back. "Working too hard again? You look a little spacey."

"Look who's talking," Nathan's eyes flickered over Peter's face. Dark pouches sat under his eyes which looked harried, even his clothes looked like he had thrown them on without caring, his hair barely combed. "You look like crap, Pete."

"Thanks," The other brother said dryly, moving out of the way as Claire entered the foyer to hug her biological father, wishing him a happy birthday as well. Claire. She was another one that gave him mixed feelings as conflicting memories clashed. A fatherly love and admiration, but also a sense of inevitability tinged with irritated amusement.

Their dinner together passed smoothly enough, light small talk broken by awkward silences filled with the clearing of throats and the scrape of forks against plates. All the while Nathan's head spun as he grappled with two lives worth of memories and feelings fighting for dominance. _Who am I? _He thought bleakly, a smile plastered on his face throughout the whole thing.

He was jerked out of his musings when Angela suddenly stood after they had finished dessert, retrieving a dark rectangular box from a nearby shelf, setting it in front of him and a smile.

"Open it," She urged, watching him carefully.

"Aw, Ma, you shouldn't have. You know I don't need anything…" Unsure of what to expect he gently pried the bow open, revealing a heavy gold watch, its dark face staring up at him. A surge of longing swept through his gut, surprising him. He wanted _his_ watch, his Sylar watch forever reading the time 11:53.

"Oh, hush, it's your birthday," His mother chastised lightly, earning a laugh from Peter and Claire. Her eyes tracked him carefully, her hands clenched in anticipation under the table. Sylar was gone, she told herself, this was Nathan. But she had to know…

"Thanks. It's beautiful, Ma." Taking off the watch he was wearing he clipped on his new one, admiring its face gleaming dully in the light. He could practically see the gears turning beneath the surface, each of them fitting together just as they were supposed to. It really was a piece of art, already the brand and how much it must have cost jumped to the forefront of his mind, things Nathan Petrelli never would have known. He had to admit, it frightened him. Angela smiled, reassured.

The rest of the night passed with light jokes and memories of birthdays past, the latter which Nathan didn't much participate in, afraid that he might mention a memory from another life, one they didn't know. It was getting late by the time he excused himself to finish some last minute paperwork in his home office.

Finally away from prying eyes he slumped in the desk chair, running his hands through his hair and sighing in exasperation. _Who am I? _The ultimate question and unfortunately the one without an answer.

"Nathan?" Peter's quit voice preceded by the creaking of the opening door startled him and he quickly shuffled some papers to appear to be busy doing something other than having a mental breakdown.

"Yeah, Pete?" He asked, looking up at his haunted looking brother.

"I messed up, Nathan," He replied simply, closing the door tightly behind him and proceeding a few steps into the office before collapsing in a chair. "I tried to see if I could absorb more than one power when Sylar was unconscious, i-it didn't work. I accidentally absorbed his power, his _real _power, just like before Dad took mine away. God, Nathan, it's like a parasite…"

Nathan stood and walked around his desk, placing a firm hand on his brother's shoulder, "Why didn't you say something earlier?" He asked, quelling a rising feeling of cruel satisfaction. See? Even golden boy Peter couldn't handle the Hunger.

"I didn't want to worry Mom or Claire," The younger explained half-heartedly, he looked up at his big brother, "I know I didn't have to ask, Nate, but…I need your help. Can I take your power? I just can't _handle_ this anymore…"

_No!_

The feeling was so strong that his hand jerked back from Peter's shoulder as if it had been burned. He wasn't sure who the warning had come from, Nathan or Sylar, or if it was logic or selfishness that fueled it. What if Peter absorbed something other than flight? Besides, the selfish side said, he had killed for these powers, _he_ had sold his soul for them, why should Peter get them without so much as lifting a finger. Because life isn't fair.

"Of course, Pete." Nathan said, trying to sound as confident and self-assured as was expected. He stuck his hand out toward his brother, cold apprehension settling in the pit of his stomach.

A look of utter relief dominated Peter's features as he reached out and took the hand, filaments of red electricity dancing from their hands and up his arm. Suddenly, he ripped his hand from his older brother's, jumping to his feet with a perturbed look.

"What's wrong?" Nathan asked, shocked by his violent reaction. Did he know?

Peter's head shook slowly from side to side, his eyes brows knitted together in confusion as he took a step backwards. He held on hand up in front of his, his eyes watching it carefully as the skin started to bubble and stretch, though he couldn't see his face do the same. In what seemed like no time at all two Nathan Petrelli's stood facing each other, each face mirroring the other in equal expressions of horror.

"I saw you burn," Peter hissed suddenly, lunging forward and shoving the real Nathan, if you could really call him that, up against a wall. "I _saw_ you _die_. Where is my brother, _Sylar_?"


	3. Truth

**A/N: Yes, I know I haven't updated in forever, sorry about that. Thanks for all the reviews, espeacially Hazgarn, who reminded me to continue. I'm definately going to update soon. R&R ^^**

"Peter," Nathan said calmly, not making a move to unpin himself from the wall, "You're not feeling well, you just need to calm down--"

"_You _don't tell me what to do!" He snapped, falling apart at the seams. His face rippled, eyes changing color and hair lengthening and shortening as he struggled to remain in control of the new ability. "J-Just tell me…"

"Okay then," Sylar said nonchalantly, lips twitching in a smile as a blast of telekinesis swept the other man across the room, his body bouncing against the opposite wall. A strange combination of horror and elation boiled in his gut as he saw what appeared to be himself half conscious and bleeding from a head wound, the feeling stayed even as the Peter shifted back to his own form.

Repressing the rising Hunger, Sylar strolled over to the brother, squatting by his head. "I am your brother, Peter, and your enemy. Funny, isn't it?"

"You son of--" Peter sputtered, breaking off in a coughing fit.

"Yes, well, I couldn't agree more about dear Angela. Who do you think did this to me? You know how she is. Always ruining lives." He shook his head disapprovingly, "Though I got what I wanted, hmm? Well, a word to the wise, be careful what you wish for."

Growing bored, Sylar raised one hand, telekinetically slicing open the palm and holding it out to Peter. "Here, take it, before it heals."

Eyes somewhat unfocused, Peter groped for the hand, red electricity running over the interlocked hands as he found it. With that, he absorbed Claire's power, his shallow head wound rapidly closing, leaving only a smear of blood behind. Dropping Sylar's hand like it burned him he pulled himself up, leaning against the dented wall as he recuperated. "I hate you," He growled, glaring.

"No you don't," He said gravely, the line between Sylar and Nathan suddenly more blurred than ever. "I'm still your brother. I look like him. I act like him…well, almost. I am him. Just think of me as…Nathan 2.0."

"_What _is going on in here?!" Angela Petrelli snapped, flinging the door open and striding purposefully into the office. "Peter? What happened to you?"

"He--" Nathan started, only to be cut off.

"I tripped, hit my head. Lucky I have Claire's power, huh?" Peter lied, giving a lopsided smile.

"Well then, you should be more careful, dear." Angela paused for a moment, giving Nathan a long look. "Why don't you go get cleaned up and go keep Claire entertained, she's only here for a few more days."

"Okay, Mom," He agreed, giving her peck on the cheek before leaving with a parting glance at Nathan.

Shutting the door carefully behind her Angela walked up to Nathan, straightening his collar as she looked him over. "Are you feeling all right?" She asked, concerned.

"Yeah, Ma, I'm fine." Nathan smiled reassuringly, looking tired. "It's just work."

"You work too hard." She smiled, patting his cheek. "Well, don't forget The Company meeting next week, we can't do this without you, you know."

"Of course, Ma." The smile stayed plastered on his face until Angela had left, closing the office door on the way out. Nathan, or Sylar, he just wasn't sure anymore, sighed. He was two different people, battling for one body. Frankly, he didn't know who he wanted to win.


End file.
